Seventh Dimension - The King - Book 2, A Young Adult Fantasy (27 page)

Falling rain
was the only noise besides my labored breathing. Could it have been
my imagination? Maybe the wind blew the door open. I called once
more. “Anyone out there?”

Lightning
revealed no one lurking in the shadows. I slammed the door shut and
locked it. When I turned around, the room was still empty. I ran
back to my apartment. Once inside, I checked three times to make
sure I locked the door. My eyes scanned the room. I ran over to the
bed. Underneath the blankets, my shekels remained hidden. Nothing
seemed missing. I tried to inhale and exhale normally but my
emotions betrayed me.

After stripping
off my wet clothes and putting on something warm, I climbed
underneath the covers, but I couldn’t quit shaking. The room was
too dark. I reached over and lit the oil lamp. I would sleep with
the light on tonight. I scooted back underneath the covers and
stared at the ceiling. Soon I drifted off, but dreams that seemed
too lifelike to be imaginary and too dreamlike to be real disturbed
any restful sleep that might have come.

I saw a stone castle at the edge of a steep
precipice. The citadel guarded a country unfamiliar to me. A golden
swath of light emanated from within the old fortress, or maybe it
came from behind the structure—or both. The light drew me towards
what was an ancient castle.

Two towers
flanked the gloomy building on each side. The ray of luminosity
stopped abruptly at the front of the fortress forming a round
floating sphere. It looked like a large transparent bubble, but I
couldn’t see through it.

A narrow road
scaled the rocky precipice. I kept fighting the sensation of
falling as I climbed. The castle reminded me of the Tower of
Babel—high above everything else. Wispy clouds surrounded it and
gave it a floating appearance.

I shivered as
an icy breeze cut through me. Climbing the slippery surface, I
wished I had cleats on the soles of my shoes. I relished every
breath as I gulped in the thin air.

Once I made it to the top, I turned around to see
how high I was. The country below seemed small and insignificant.
The castle beckoned me.

I walked
through the door and flaming torches lined the hallway. Several
doors to adjoining rooms flanked each side of the
entryway.

The foyer led
to stairs at the back of the castle that wound in a corkscrew to
the second floor. I tried to open the first door in the foyer, but
it was locked. I tried another and another, but to no
avail.

I gave up on
the doors and crept towards the back.

The sound of my
footsteps on the marble floor echoed through the empty room. I was
afraid someone might hear me, but the castle seemed
vacant—forgotten in time.

I was searching
for something, but I didn’t know what. The stairs creaked as I
stepped on each one. I reached the top and stood before a large
door. Upon opening it, a darkened rectangular room spread out in
front of me. In the shadows at the far end, a man was chained to
the wall, but I couldn’t see his face.

I heard voices
and footsteps coming up the stairs behind me. I froze. My legs
wouldn’t move. I pulled on one of my legs with my hands to lift my
foot, but my leg was too heavy. I fell to my knees and scooted
myself across the floor, hiding behind a chest of drawers. Two men
entered, but I didn’t recognize them. They walked past me, speaking
in Arabic. I tried to understand their words, but I
couldn’t.

I watched from
behind the chest. The two men approached the prisoner. One of them
spoke to him, but I didn’t understand the Arabic.

I heard the voice of the prisoner. He spoke in
Hebrew, “I’m not going to tell you where it is.”

I heard my father’s voice.

I woke up
hyperventilating. Could my father be alive holed up in a castle
somewhere? Who were those men? After a few moments, I came to my
senses.

It was a
dream—only a dream. I wanted something familiar to cling to, a
tether to keep from falling—as if I could still fall off the
mountain.

I sat on my bed
and sobbed. I missed my father. I missed my home—my country, my
time, my friends. I didn’t know how to get back. Even if I could, I
wouldn’t. I had agreed to race for the next eight
months.

Honor meant I
kept my word. I reached for my shekels under the covers—my gold, my
golden idol. I would finish my time here and go back to Dothan and
ask God to help me—just a little more money, a few more
races.

I was no
General Goren—and no angel either.

Two Weeks
Later

The crowds
stood and cheered when I walked into the stadium. I was the
gladiator everyone had come to see. The sponsors wanted to maximize
the profits and build the suspense—so my race was last. I had
become a hero in Caesarea and beyond.

I waved to my
fans. What else did they have to look forward to besides chariot
racing? I gave the masses a diversion from cursed Rome.

I admired the
stadium, its construction, its history, and the lore of chariot
racing. The excitement it offered to those in the stands and the
courage of those who dared to step onto a chariot and be a
gladiator—I was part of that story now that been forgotten, but had
I let it go too far?

I wrapped the
reins around my waist and tucked the knife inside the sheath. The
slaves loaded the horses into the starting gates. The trumpet
sounded, the handkerchief dropped, and the gates flew
open.

Was this just
a game, a race, or more? In the beginning, I wanted shekels to pay
for my medical education. What did God want?

As the horses
ran with the strength of a mighty wind, I looked up into the
darkened sky. Suddenly another dimension peeled back. Heaven and
earth revealed themselves as a scroll that opened. The words on the
scroll took on life itself—scenes played out in the heavens. The
dimension of earth and the dimension of heaven had collided into a
transcendent world visible only to my spiritual eyes.

I suddenly
became aware of the battle between good and evil, a battle of
gigantic proportions. I was surrounded by spiritual beings both
beautiful and terrifying.

Demons and
angels sat alongside racing patrons in the stands—as well as other
strange creatures for which I had no name. The old familiar smell
of rotten eggs filled my nostrils and burned my throat. Where was
the ventriloquist? My stomach had soured and I feared I would throw
up.

My knees
buckled and I swayed out of control. I was racing in a race of a
different kind. I didn’t know I had entered this race. I gradually
perceived this was a race for my soul. Someone else had taken over
the reins.

Creatures
filled the skies, heavenly creatures wielding clanging swords and
deadly weapons. The skies revealed a real heaven and a real hell
locked in a spiritual battle of immense proportions.

I wanted to
steer my chariot towards the heavens, where goodness was gaining
strength as it fought back against the darkness, but I was no
longer in control of my life. Had it been ripped from me or had I
given it up unawares? Why had I made so many poor
choices?

The masses
roared with profane words and hearts captivated by worldly pursuits
and unholy passion. Their shouts exploded across heaven and earth.
I became keenly aware that every word we uttered was heard in other
dimensions and not just in time and space. Could the spiritual
world be more real than physical reality?

Mosi and Oni
galloped down the course as a storm-wind descended in the form of a
spirit. The breeze blew around the chariot, like a heavenly
messenger delivering a special gift. I came to realize I was not
just a racer, but the prize itself. Something or someone wanted
me—badly.

The horses
morphed into fiery beastly cherubs pulling the chariot. Two more
angels appeared on either side. The four powerful winged creatures
surrounding the chariot again morphed into indescribable shapes,
terrifying creatures that hurtled the chariot across the track and
into the heavens. I had no concept of where I was. Heaven and earth
had melded as one.

Above the
frightening horses of fire was a glass ceiling. On the ceiling was
a magnificent throne. Seated on the throne was someone who had the
appearance of a man and the likeness of God. His radiance blinded
me and my knees buckled. I started to fall off the chariot, but a
hand reached out and caught me. Fire blazed all around—I was riding
in a chariot of fire like Elijah rode into heaven—the
Merkabah.

The man’s legs
glowed like molten lava. He wore a crown—but I couldn’t read what
was written on it. The mysterious man’s face shone like the sun.
Pure white light bathed his garments. He had the appearance of the
glory of God. I wanted to fall down and worship him, but he told me
to stand.

I looked up
and saw the heavens. Above the stadium, scenes scrolled across the
sky. I saw the creation of heaven and earth, the Garden of Eden,
and the fall. I saw Abraham bind Isaac as an offering to God and
the willingness of each to be obedient unto death.

I saw the
anguish of Joseph, rejected and betrayed by his own brothers—a
young man who suffered unfairly from false accusations and slander,
though he himself was righteous. I felt Joseph’s pain when his
brothers did not recognize him.

What was the
significance? Why did Joseph not reveal his identity to his
brothers until their second trip to Egypt?

“It was a
test,” the man on the throne said.

Two goats
appeared. One goat was sacrificed. “Atonement must be made,” the
mysterious man said. The other one was driven into the desert. The
man said, “I am doing a new thing.”

“What new thing?” I asked.

The man read my thoughts. “Everything must be
fulfilled that is written in the Law of Moses, the Prophets, and
the Psalms.”

Where was this
written? Who was the heavenly being in the Merkabah? As I looked
around, the chariot appeared to resemble the ark—God had opened my
eyes to understanding things far above my natural
ability.

Two Jews
removed a man from a tree. I caught their faces, the faces of
enlightened Jews who loved more than the rest. They loved the one
on the cross the most.

Fires around
Jerusalem filled the sky and the temple burned. The city
mourned.

Swift-moving
scenes revealed more suffering and sorrow—centuries came and
went.

Fire reached
up into the heavens. The whole sky blazed with the fires of
Auschwitz. I watched as my mother’s grandmother and grandfather
walked to their deaths in the gas chambers.

“No, no,” I cried.

Two prominent Jewish men secretly took the crucified
man down from the cross and buried him in a rich’s man tomb. Later
the tomb was empty.

Scenes came
and went, faster and faster. The vision ended with General Goren
fighting on the plains of Megiddo. Someone found him and
transported him to the hospital in the Old City. He lay near death.
I saw an angel visit him, but I couldn’t see his face.

The mysterious
man spoke. “Today you were to die in an accident, but your life is
spared because your work is not yet finished. You have been
marked—sealed as a servant of God. Remain pure and undefiled.
Beware of the evil one who wants to profane you and take away your
crown.”

Suddenly the
chariot spun out of control. I fell and felt my body being
stretched too far. Pain surged through my joints and ligaments. A
bright light surrounded me. Two creatures lifted me and carried me
over to the spina. Then they laid me down in the grass.

I felt someone
hovering over me, but my vision was blurry and I couldn’t see. The
medics came, placed me on a cot, and carried me
somewhere.

I heard Cynisca asking the medic, “Is he still
alive?”

“Yes. He is very fortunate,” a voice replied.

I tried to
speak, but I couldn’t. I could move my arms and legs and feel my
limbs, but my mind was reeling.

After a few
minutes, my vision returned. I touched my eyes—my contacts were
gone. How could I now see without my contacts? The medic applied a
cool cloth to my face and wiped off the blood.

Cynisca stood
beside me. She leaned over and smiled. “Thank Caesar you’re all
right.”

“And the horses?” I asked.

“The chariot became separated from the horses and
the animals kept going. The horses behind you didn’t fare as well.
You flew through the air and landed in the grass. It’s amazing you
weren’t killed.”

I nodded.

The medic
bandaged up the cuts on my arms and legs. I remembered vaguely what
had happened. The races were over for the day and people were
leaving. Several stopped by to check on me. I tried to stand, but I
was too dizzy.

Cynisca frowned. “Daniel, why don’t you let me take
you back to my place and you can rest. I can fix you some food and
change your bandages.”

“Sure,” I said. “If you can.”

“I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

She left for a
short time, which gave me a few minutes to recuperate. I felt
extremely fatigued and wanted to sleep. When she returned, concern
covered her face. She spoke gently. “Do you feel well enough to
walk? I have just the spot for you to recover.”